Sherlock Holmes in Russia

I

The story of how the gold stolen from the Brothers’ Mine was found spread like wildfire throughout the whole of Siberia. Sherlock Holmes’s name was passed from mouth to mouth, while tales of his exploits were so exaggerated that he became some sort of mythical hero. Often, he had to listen to the most incredible stories about himself, with which we were entertained on trains by fellow passengers who did not know our surnames. Holmes was terribly amused and entertained by such stories.

The following case occurred half a year after the withdrawal from Mukden, in north-east China, of troops who had participated in the Russo–Japanese War (1904–05). We were on our way to Harbin, also in north-east China, from where we intended to go to Vladivostok, Russia’s port on the Pacific Ocean, and then to return to European Russia via Khabarovsk, Blagoveschensk and Stretensk. This route would enable us to visit all the principal cities of Siberia.

On a grey September day our train stopped at Baikal station, named after the great Siberian lake on which it stood.

The stopover was a long one, so we got off at the station to have lunch, to taste the famous Baikal salmon, extolled by Siberian exiles.

We had eaten this fish and the ghastly soup that was on the menu, when a cavalry captain, and officer of gendarmes, sat down opposite us. He looked at Holmes, and his brows puckered as though he recalled something.

Sherlock Holmes also looked at him and suddenly smiled, ‘I think you and I recognize each other, Captain,’ he said, raising his cap. ‘I had the honour of seeing you half a year ago at the headquarters of the Moscow police. As far as I remember, you were summoned in connection with counterfeit gold five-rouble pieces!’

‘Quite so!’ said the officer and saluted. ‘It took me a while to recognize you, but now I do. Aren’t you Mr Sherlock Holmes?’

‘Yes!’

‘And this is your friend, Dr Watson.’

I bowed.

On the one hand, Sherlock Holmes wasn’t shy or withdrawn when he met someone. On the other, he didn’t like to draw public attention to himself, which would have happened if anyone had heard his name pronounced aloud. So he suggested we adjourn to a separate little table in a corner of the station buffet.

A waiter moved our food and cutlery and we took up our new places.

‘You’ve been transferred here from European Russia?’ asked Holmes.

‘Yes, four months ago,’ said the cavalry captain.

‘And if I am not mistaken, your surname is Zviagin.’

‘Absolutely right!’

‘And are you satisfied with your new appointment?’ asked Holmes.

‘Not particularly.’

‘Boring?’

‘Oh, no! The problem is that pilfering on the railroad, and especially on Siberian railways, is on such a monumental scale that not a single consignor can be assured his consignment is safe. I was assigned to investigate this phenomenon but, alas, I reckon with horror that I cannot cope with it.’

‘Really!’ Holmes gave an ironic little laugh.

‘There is so much pilfering and it is all so cleverly organized, I’m simply lost as to which one to investigate first and how!’

‘Have you any idea of the monetary scale of the pilfering, say in one month?’

‘Oh, yes!’

‘And, as a matter of interest—?’ asked Holmes.

‘Well, for example, take July. One hundred thousand roubles worth of state-owned consignments haven’t reached Manchuria and Harbin stations. Private cargoes worth seventy thousand never reached their destination.’

‘I say!’ exclaimed Holmes, taken considerably aback.

‘This may seem considerable to you foreigners,’ said Zviagin with a little laugh, ‘but in Russia, and especially here in Siberia, we are quite used to such sums.’

At this moment, another officer of gendarmes came up to Zviagin.

‘From whence?’ asked Captain Zviagin

The newcomer named one of the larger Siberian cities.

‘Passing through?’ asked Zviagin.

‘Yes, I took some leave to get about a little.’

They exchanged a few words and the newcomer left.

‘There’s a lucky fellow,’ sighed Zviagin.

‘Who is he?’ asked Holmes.

‘Security Chief for his city. A year younger than me, a mere twelve years on the job, gets a salary of six thousand a year, plus another thirty thousand expenses for which he doesn’t have to account.’

‘What!’ Holmes asked in total shock. ‘Thirty thousand a year for which he doesn’t have to account!’

‘Yes!’

‘For what purpose?’

‘Finding spies, etcetera.’

‘Dammit, my dear Watson,’ exclaimed Holmes, absolutely stunned. ‘What would our Parliament have to say if presented with this sort of thing!’

He turned to Zviagin again and asked, ‘Can one security department in a provincial town spend that on political investigation?’

‘Some have more,’ said Zviagin coolly.

‘I’ve never heard of any such thing,’ said Holmes, now thoroughly embarrassed. ‘One would think half your population are political offenders. But … if that’s so, the term loses its meaning.’

‘Not entirely,’ Zviagin answered with a smile. ‘In any case, talking to a foreigner about this is a waste of time. You do things your way and we do things our way.’ He gave another deep sigh and lit a cigarette.

A subordinate appeared. ‘Your Excellency, the freight car arrived at the next station with half its cargo missing again,’ he reported. ‘Mitayeff is just back from there.’

Zviagin swore, ‘See for yourself. You take up one case and at the same time you are presented with a second … and a fifth … and a tenth.’

He looked at Sherlock Holmes in despair. ‘I’d give half my life for your assistance,’ he exclaimed and gave the famous detective a beseeching look.

The idea seemed to have lodged itself in his head and he began to beg Sherlock Holmes and me to stay for a while to put an end to these dreadful goings-on. ‘You can demand any payment,’ he exclaimed.

‘But we’re here only as tourists,’ countered Holmes.

‘That’s wonderful! I’ll show you the whole of the Baikal, the forests and bush land of the Varguzinsk taiga, and the penal servitude settlements. You’ll see much that’s interesting, things that you could never see otherwise when you travel by train. And what is more, we’ll split the reward half and half.’

Holmes turned to me, ‘Wouldn’t you say it’s worth thinking about, my dear Watson. What do you think?’

‘It’s certainly a very tempting offer,’ I answered.

‘But, of course, do stay on,’ Zviagin kept on insistently, encouraged by what my friend had said.

Holmes was considering something.

‘Well,’ the cavalry captain urged him.

‘It’s settled! I’m staying,’ answered Holmes.

‘Bravo!’ Zviagin exclaimed happily. ‘Hey there, waiter, let’s have a bottle of champagne and call a porter!’

Our luggage and other things were transferred out of our compartment and placed in the station waiting area, while we went back to our table on which champagne already foamed in tall flutes.

II

‘And so, I only ask that our real names should not be revealed to anyone,’ said Holmes, as he clinked glasses with Zviagin and me. ‘Let your people think we are ordinary detectives you have employed. We were looking for work on the railroad, we became accidentally acquainted and you made us a tempting offer.’

‘What about the railway and engineering senior staff?’ asked Zviagin.

‘Let them think we are your relations. We’ll see how we go.’

‘That’s why, in the absence of a hotel hereabouts, you can stay at my place, all right?’ Zviagin suggested.

‘Of course!’

Our initial conversation and any further talk about the case was now over. A second bottle was placed before us. After spending about an hour in the station buffet, we moved on to Zviagin’s place, put our things away and locked ourselves in with him in his study to plan what we would do.

‘How often do passenger trains pass through here?’ asked Holmes.

‘Twice a day,’ answered Zviagin.

‘And freight trains?’

Zviagin made a dismissive gesture with his hand.

‘When and how they please?’ asked Holmes.

‘Something like that,’ answered Zviagin.

‘Do you suspect anyone?’

‘Everyone!’ said Zviagin sharply.

‘What do you mean by everyone?’ asked Holmes in surprise.

‘It’s simply that I think everyone steals, starting with the bosses at the top, down to the signalman.’

‘If I understand the captain all right, my dear Watson, we will have to deal with half of Russia.’

‘At any rate, the whole of the railroad,’ broke in Zviagin angrily.

Having got some more information out of Zviagin, we took the maps and plans of the railway system going around Lake Baikal and beyond and went to our rooms.

I must have been long asleep while Holmes still pored over timetables and maps. And though he went to sleep after me, he was already at work when I woke up. His notebook, filled with a mass of notes, lay before him.

Seeing that I was awake, he nodded his head at me and said, ‘Get up, Watson. Today, we’re going for a little trip on a freight train.’

‘Now?’

‘No, we’ll spend the day examining the station and storerooms. In the evening, we’ll take a little trip beyond Lake Baikal and return tomorrow.’

III

It was an exhausting day. Sherlock Holmes examined the railway, warehouses, the railway station for freight trains, and drew the conclusion that the system was chaotic enough to make stealing mere child’s play. ‘It would be a miracle if there wasn’t any stealing,’ he said. ‘The first thing that hits you between the eyes is that none of the staff is in their appointed places. It’s a wonder that the station manager and district manager haven’t been stolen!’

‘Perhaps they are not worth stealing,’ I answered.

‘I quite agree, my dear Watson,’ said Holmes, laughing at this quip.

We took a nap after lunch and in the evening went to the railway station. The train conductors and the station staff in general didn’t know us yet, so we easily got the chief conductor of the freight train to let us ride first class round Lake Baikal for less than a rouble. Holmes deliberately rode as a passenger without a ticket, because a passenger without a ticket raised no suspicion.

At ten o’clock at night the train left. It was a dark night and the huge cliffs on our right added to the gloom. Vast Lake Baikal slept peacefully between its rocky shores. In the dark, they were nearly out of sight, except for the gleam of their dark steel reflection in the water.

The train climbed uphill, from time to time stopping at gloomy stations that looked like the lair of bandits, and diving in and out of tunnels.

We stood on one of the platforms at the rear of a carriage in the middle of the train, admiring the picture of a grim Siberian night. About three hours later we arrived at a small railway station. It was about 12.30 in the middle of the night.

Our legs were tired from standing or sitting still, so Sherlock Holmes suggested we stretch our legs along the station platform. Half the lights were out, probably for reasons of economy, and it was dark everywhere. We walked up and down waiting for the departure signal.

Suddenly, a loud male voice yelled in the darkness, ‘D’you hear, Burmistoff, send your locomotive to hell.’

‘I’m coming,’ answered a voice from the engine.

‘Come on, hurry, the vodka is waiting.’

‘But when will you let the train move on?’

‘When we’ve had enough to eat, that’s when I’ll let it go.’

The voices fell silent.

We went up to the locomotive and saw only the stoker inside.

‘When is the train departing?’ Holmes asked him.

‘Only after the engine driver has had his dinner,’ said the stoker imperturbably. ‘Didn’t you see him go off to dinner with the stationmaster?’

‘Did you hear that?’ muttered Holmes, confused and perplexed, when we had gone some way from the engine.

‘I did!’ I answered.

‘Is that what they call a timetable? Let’s see what happens now!’

It was a long wait. The engine driver took two hours over his dinner. Eventually, very unsteady on his feet, he emerged from the station house accompanied by an even more inebriated stationmaster.

‘—it’s those bastards, the correspondents, I fear,’ loudly resonated from the stationmaster, evidently concluding a conversation that had begun earlier. ‘Earlier on, that trash never bothered coming here, it being free-and-easy enough elsewhere. Then came the war and they were here one after another, like evil spirits.’

‘Ye-es,’ drawled the engine driver in his deep bass.

‘But most important, you didn’t know where such fellows are likely to pop up from,’ the stationmaster continued. ‘You even find ’em amongst the military! Turn up, sniff out and disappear.’

‘You should’ve pushed one of ’em under the wheels … like it was an accident.’

‘Brother, you won’t get hold of one of ’em. Too quick, and they always come on a passenger train. How can you tell ’em for what they are? Just as well they don’t rummage about on freight trains or we’d be back in no time on just our wages.’

‘Bloody swine!’ swore the engine driver.

They moved towards the locomotive.

‘How about one for the road?’ suggested the stationmaster. ‘A little cognac?’

‘Why not!’

‘Hey, there, Ivan,’ called out the stationmaster. ‘Cognac and glasses here!’

The two friends disposed themselves on the grass and a few minutes later started drinking again.

We hid behind a carriage and listened.

‘How many carriages did you take?’ we heard the voice of the stationmaster.

‘From Aberyantz?’ asked the driver.

‘Yes.’

‘Two,’ said the driver.

‘Did you get much?’

‘Twenty roubles each,’ answered the driver.

‘Ah, yes, he did complain to me about you. He said it’s robbery.’

‘Let him! The other day you showed me those carriages, so I ordered them to be uncoupled from the rest of the train. He noticed and came along. “Who gave orders to uncouple those carriages? They’re supposed to travel non-stop and they’ve been coming from Russia for all of four months. That’s a disgrace!” And on and on he went. So I tell him, “The train has to go uphill and is lugging too many carriages. The locomotive will never make it, so the hind carriages had to be uncoupled.” So that’s why he must’ve come to you.’

‘Yes! Yes! Well, I told him the driver knows best. He yelled and yelled, threatened to complain. But I know these merchant types. In the end he paid up.’

‘Ha! Ha! Ha!’ laughed the driver.

‘What are you laughing about?’

‘I was thinking to myself, what would a merchant be prepared to pay for a carriage full of his goods and going at normal speed, to be delivered from Moscow to Harbin in China?’

‘I did try calculating it,’ said the stationmaster merrily. ‘According to my calculations, on top of the tariff, about two hundred roubles per carriage.’

‘It used to be more in war-time.’

‘Ye-es! I used to get up to a thousand. Let’s knock back a few more.’

‘Let ’im have it! Anyway, what we are getting should be enough!’

‘Tomorrow I’ll be making money out of Liu Pin Yuan’s freight cars,’ said the stationmaster.

‘Maintenance?’

‘Yes. I’ll tell him they’re out of order. I’ll tell him that they have to be taken to the depot, but the goods cannot be transferred as the seals were affixed in Moscow. A day or so on the alternate track and he’s bound to reach into his wallet. If he doesn’t, I’ll keep them there for a month!’

Both laughed merrily. The bottle gurgled. But half an hour later, the bottle must have been emptied and the inebriated engine driver, having farewelled his friend, clambered up into the locomotive.

The third bell sounded.

The train got under way with such a jerk Holmes and I nearly fell off the platform.

‘Nonetheless… hmm… riding these trains is more dangerous than chasing the most dangerous robbers,’ Sherlock Holmes complained.

IV

The train went off in reckless flight. Carriages shook up and down and side to side as if they, too, were inebriated, and we had to hold on to the handrails for dear life, not to be shaken off the train.

‘Some way of doing things,’ Holmes went on complaining. ‘Any insurance company would be bankrupted if it were to insure trains and people from crashes. And what sort of administration have we here! How do you like it? To have your freight delivered in normal time, you have to hand out two hundred roubles in bribes alone.’

The sentry boxes of the railway security detail flashed past, one after another. And now, at last, the semaphore winked. The drunken engine driver began to slow down and slammed the brakes so abruptly several carriages nearly crashed into one another.

Half an hour passed.

‘Dammit! This is some halt!’ Holmes said indignantly. ‘My dear Watson, let’s ask when the train will move on?’

We headed for the station. The noise of revelry came through one of the windows, drunken singing, loud shouts.

‘Will the train be departing soon?’ Holmes asked some guard.

‘The engine driver and his assistant have to dine first and then it’ll go,’ came the answer.

‘What do you mean, dine!’ asked Holmes, beside himself with rage. ‘He’s eaten more than enough at the last station!’

‘Evidently not enough,’ was the phlegmatic rejoinder.

‘Phooey!’ Holmes spat out and moved back to the train.

‘I say, wouldn’t it be better to get off this train for another, whose driver isn’t so partial to dining out?’ I advised.

‘Hmmm … I’m beginning to think the same myself,’ muttered Holmes. But since no other train was available, we sat on the steps of our carriage and awaited developments.

On this occasion, the engine driver and his assistant took an hour and a half over dinner.

Dawn began to break. At last they appeared. But their appearance! The engine driver had dined so well, he couldn’t go under his own steam. Hence such a glorious procession. Two guards hauled the driver, his heels dragging along the ground. His assistant followed, just about managing to place one foot in front of the other, while singing a rollicking Russian melody.

Holmes gave me a little nudge. ‘My dear Watson, what do you think will happen to the train if this driver and his assistant decide to have another dinner. We may assume we won’t make it to another station after that!’

I simply gestured dismissively with my hand.

‘In any case, let’s have a look whether one of the rear carriages has a platform. It’d be much safer if the train crashes,’ said Holmes.

And so, while the driver and his assistant just about managed to get into the locomotive, Holmes and I got on the platform of the third carriage from the rear.

‘Now, then, Watson—’

Before Sherlock Holmes could finish the sentence, the train gave an incredible jerk and we grabbed at the handrail.

‘This is it!’ I said in horror.

But to our astonishment, we remained in the same place without moving. Holmes poked his head out to see what was going on and suddenly said in amazement, ‘My dear Watson, our train is gone!’

‘How?’ I asked in wonder.

‘Very simply! The driver fell asleep and his assistant gave such a sudden start to the train that the four rear carriages broke off and remained standing with us on one of them, while the train went on.’

Pandemonium broke out at the station. It is likely that a conductor on the train noticed what had happened because, as soon as the train got to the semaphore, it stopped and began to reverse back to the station.

The now inoperative fourth carriage from the rear, with its connecting links broken, was taken out of commission. Two more mighty jerks, which nearly knocked us off our feet, finally exhausted Holmes’s patience. He jumped off the train shouting, ‘Get off, my dear Watson, get off quickly, before our ribs are smashed and our necks are snapped.’

I have to admit that I willingly followed his advice.

The train departed and we remained on an empty station where everyone and everything seemed fast asleep.

V

Later, we were not to regret letting that train go without us. Exactly three quarters of an hour later, it went off the rails at full speed. It had sped too quickly round one of the turnings. The guard told us that twelve carriages became debris. Several broke up and only the last five carriages survived. The train staff suffered considerable injuries. The driver and his assistant died in the accident; the stoker was badly hurt. Two conductors also died and three were severely injured.

When we heard this news, we adjourned to the cargo platform and, getting out the food we had prepared in advance, satisfied our hunger pangs, which were finally beginning to appear.

Then Holmes brought out his notebook and began to write something in it. ‘I am making a note of those who, in England, would be considered criminals,’ he said.

‘Many?’ I asked.

‘I’m afraid that by the end of our travels, my notebook won’t suffice,’ answered Holmes and shook his head.

Some four hours later, the next goods train pulled into the station. One of the rear carriages being empty, the conductors let the public into it, pocketing the fares for themselves. This was probably common practice, because none of the station higher-ups paid any attention.

I was in total agreement with Holmes, when he said, ‘It seems all Siberian railways are made by the Russian government, not for the population but for the engineers and railroad staff.’

On this second train we passed through several stations, stopping the length of time determined by the driver, though this one didn’t take as long over his meals. This was a great consolation to us.

Unnoticeably, evening crept over us again. It became completely dark. Our train left some station or other and covered about six or seven miles. Suddenly, the engine began to emit alarming whistles. One after another the whistles followed turning into a frenzied wail, while the brakes pressed hard against the wheels. At last the train halted.

We jumped off the platform to see what was going on ahead. Shouts, yells and the most angry swearing came from there, and some sort of light flickered.

‘What’s happened?’ asked an alarmed Holmes of a conductor returning from the locomotive with a torch.

‘We nearly ran into an open freight wagon,’ the man answered and swore.

Soon the train moved again. In fact, as we moved forward, we saw about ten such wagons uncoupled by the side of the track. Piled sleepers lay beside them. Beside the uncoupled wagons, people with torches stood and cursed for all they were worth.

When our train had moved past this scene and picked up speed, Holmes smirked and said, ‘I’m prepared to bet there’s something illegal going on here, too.’

‘Namely,’ I prompted.

‘First of all, why move sleepers by night? Next, why are ten freight cars being hauled by people when all the sleepers could be hauled on a flat-bed wagon by a locomotive?’

‘Perhaps there wasn’t a locomotive available!’ I said.

‘Now that I gravely doubt,’ said Holmes with a laugh.

Mile after mile flashed by and, at last, the train stopped at a station.

Holmes suggested a break. We got off the train and stretched out on benches for first-and second-class passengers and slept soundly.

VI

Exhausted by the events of the two previous nights, we slept till about eight in the morning. We breakfasted at the station buffet and then explored the station and the area around.

There were earthen huts for building workers not far off.

It was a holiday, and the workers sat in circles by their huts, drinking tea or vodka. We strolled past responding with bows to theirs. One of the groups attracted our attention.

A man, evidently drunk, stood in their midst, addressing the others, ‘I know enough to spill things on him,’ he yelled. ‘I don’t care if he’s an engineer. I’ll make him sorry.’

‘Fired you?’ someone asked.

‘You’re kidding!’ said the first. ‘The section head told me to clear out, so I went to his superior. This is how it is, I tell him. He steals sleepers by the thousand and fires me for taking just a couple of hundred. I’ll send a report to Mr Yugovitch and a copy to the Minister of Transport Communication.’

‘And what happened?’ asked one of the workers.

‘He promised he’d transfer me to another section if I didn’t send any report. They’ve all got their snouts in the trough, see, so they oughtn’t to make a big deal out of what we small fellows do!’

‘Right! Right! That’s for sure!’ burst out approving voices.

‘See what they do when presented with some of their bloomin’ wonders!’ said one of the workers stepping forward. ‘For example, that one engineer steals sleepers from another engineer. Say, for example, Engineer Ilya Petrovitch instructs his foreman to take ten freight wagons and load them up with sleepers stolen from his friend Feodor Nikolayevitch who runs the adjoining section!’

‘The devil knows what they do under the circumstances!’

‘Don’t you know?’ exclaimed the first worker. ‘Don’t you understand? Say Ilya Petrovitch stole from Feodor Nikolayevitch. Of course, that’s all done to pull the wool over the eyes because, if Feodor Nikolayevitch didn’t want anyone to steal from him, he’d mount more watchmen. But this is what is really going on. Feodor Nikolayevitch will now notice the theft and draw up a charge sheet in the presence of witnesses. The charge sheet will say, nicked by Chinese bandits. A detachment will be despatched and no Chinese bandits will be found, but money is sent to Feodor Nikolayevitch to replace the stolen sleepers. Now Ilya Petrovitch stacks up the stolen sleepers. Enter the contractor who supplies Ilya Petrovitch with sleepers and who is in on this. If Ilya Petrovitch steals a thousand sleepers, his contractor delivers a thousand less, but bills for the full number. Ilya Petrovitch now gets paid by the contractor. Out of this deal Ilya Petrovitch gets something, and Feodor Nikolayevitch gets something. It’s all the work of Chinese bandits and they’re not around! That’s how it is!’

The conversation turned toward Chinese bandits.

‘Do you hear that?’ Holmes said with a laugh, as he led me aside. ‘This is well organized, orderly thievery. I don’t know what we’ll uncover further, but so far I haven’t yet come across a single honest person.’

We walked to the little village, consisting of a few small shops and houses.

‘Shall we try that shop?’ suggested Holmes.

‘Let’s,’ I said.

We went in.

VII

Sherlock Holmes threw a quick glance round the shop and asked to be shown long underwear, singlets and boots. The owner produced all three.

‘Do you have any other sort?’ asked Holmes. He then rummaged through the entire shop and finally selected a pair of boots, two singlets and a pair of long underwear. He paid, picked up his purchases and we moved along to the next shop.

Once again Holmes rummaged and rummaged, but only bought two lemons.

One after another, we went through the other shops and came away with china from one, suspenders from another and in yet another, for some reason, cut-offs of materials for women’s dresses.

After that we found an open field.

‘Now, then, let’s have a look at our purchases,’ said Sherlock Holmes. He sat down on the grass and began to untie the packets we had brought with us.

‘I’m wondering why you had to buy all this rubbish, for which we have absolutely no use,’ I said, shrugging my shoulders.

‘You’re wrong, my dear Watson. This rubbish is very important for me,’ and he laughed. ‘Just look at this lemon, my dear Watson. It bears the mark of the Red Cross on it. Of course, the kind-hearted donor didn’t consider that his lemons would be sold in the most ordinary grocery for a few pennies, instead of getting to a wounded soldier.’

He unwrapped another packet, got out a pair of boots and pointed inside the boot leg, ‘Here, look at this, with the mark indicating it is army property. Instead of going to a half-barefooted soldier, it is being sold in a shop where even a Japanese, the country’s former enemy, can buy it.’

I looked with curiosity at the samples Holmes had collected. All the time, he went on unwrapping one item after another, saying, ‘A superb collection! Singlets from the Red Cross, long underwear, also, china bearing the hallmark of the International Association of Sleeping-cars, hmmm … undoubtedly from the train of the commander-in-chief … brace-bands of the 14 Field Hospital … Well! Well! Well!’

‘It won’t be easy for you to sort out this mess,’ I said. ‘Digging into this could take years.’

‘Undoubtedly! But for me, the important thing is to locate the common thread and the dots it goes through.’

‘What do you intend to do?’ I asked.

Holmes thought for a minute, ‘As far as I am concerned, the middlemen don’t interest me, Watson. Do you see this? I am much more interested in the suppliers and that’s why you and I, in my opinion, wouldn’t be erring greatly if, for a while, we traded in these stolen goods.’

‘How?’ I asked, because I did not understand.

‘We’ll pick some likely place where stolen goods are in greatest demand and that’s where we’ll start selling.’

‘In that case, our trip will have to take longer.’

‘Of course! We’ll send a detailed account of our intention to Zviagin, but shan’t send regular accounts of progress. He’ll forward our luggage wherever we need it. Do you agree with this, Watson?’

I could only shrug my shoulders. ‘Why do you bother to ask for my assent?’ I answered. ‘You know perfectly well that I gladly follow you everywhere.’

On this we ended our conversation.

We spent the whole of the next day travelling and our choice fell, at last, on Sliudianka station. From here, Holmes dispatched a short communication to Zviagin and, in a business-like manner, we set about preparing for trade.

VIII

Approximately ten days went by. In those ten days we managed to get a few things done.

We rented a Chinese fang-tze [hut] and had it redecorated. The local carpenter urgently made counters and shelves, while the two of us went about suppliers, trading agents and dealers, bargaining over every conceivable kind of goods, sometimes even ill-assorted.

Before long, samples were being brought to us. Holmes took only small quantities of those goods which did not rouse his suspicion. But no sooner was anything suspicious placed before him than he took large quantities and spoke at length with the suppliers. Such deals were often accompanied by drinking sessions, during which Holmes and the seller would each put up a few bottles of champagne.

Some twenty days later, when the carpenter had finished, we started accepting deliveries in the store. Holy Mother of God, what did we only not stock! Holmes seemed positively determined to open a general store such as the world had never seen: sugar, lubricating grease, cotton cloth, calico, chintz, dried vegetables, boots, perfume, singlets, almonds, vodka, linen, dental and surgical instruments, in sum, anything that anyone would want. Merchants and agents poured in endlessly, having heard that we bought anything that came to hand.

One evening, Holmes had just begun to open a case of boots, when an Armenian named Bakhtadian dropped by. Bakhtadian was his top supplier and, in the manner of people from the Caucasus, addressed him in the familiar second person and not the polite plural second person. ‘Opening up a case of boots, are you?’ he asked.

‘Yes, they’re your boots,’ said Holmes, with a smile, taking out a pair and deliberately studying the inside of the leg.

Bakhtadian laughed, ‘Looking for the mark?’

‘Doesn’t bother me,’ shrugged Holmes. ‘I’ll scrape it off. But how come you aren’t afraid to sell them like that so openly?’

‘What’s there to be afraid of?’ Bakhtadian asked in surprise. ‘If it is the authorities themselves who do the selling, anything goes. If one had to remove seals and stamps and brands and marks from every article, it would take five years.’

‘Oh, is there that much?’ asked Holmes, also in surprise.

Bakhtadian merely gestured dismissively with his hand. ‘Let’s drink wine. We have to talk.’

Holmes stopped what he was doing and the three of us moved to the back where we lived. Holmes told the Chinese shop assistant to bring red wine and champagne. In Siberia they not only prefer these two drinks, but they like to mix them.

At first Holmes avoided any talk of business, filling Bakhtadian’s glass more and more. And it was only when he saw Bakhtadian’s face had turned red from drink that he let him talk business. The result couldn’t have been better.

Bakhtadian came straight to business. ‘You, my dearest fellow, think that I believe you wish to trade hereabouts?’ he asked with malice in his voice.

‘Whatever else?’ asked Holmes in surprise.

Bakhtadian winked slyly. ‘Then why do you buy anything that comes your way? Could it be you are sending it all to Russia, where there’s a seller’s market!’

‘Let’s say that’s so,’ said Holmes.

‘Do you have a lot of money?’

‘Enough,’ said Holmes.

‘Well, then, how much can you put into the business?’

‘As much as necessary,’ Holmes said gravely. ‘If I don’t have enough of my own, there’s a friend.’

Bakhtadian nodded approvingly.

Later, Holmes was to tell me that all the time Bakhtadian suspected that Holmes and I were the heads of a superbly organized gang with a large capital and occupying ourselves with buying and selling stolen goods.

‘Do you want to do business, then say so,’ said Bakhtadian.

‘Of course, I do,’ said Holmes.

‘Then do so! I can deliver all the goods you want.’

‘From where?’ asked Holmes.

‘They’re on offer from everywhere. From here and from Missova, from Innokentievsk, from Manchuria, Baikal, well, from every possible railway station.’

‘What’s on offer?’

‘All sorts of goods: beds, underwear, perfumery, fabrics, sugar, candles, medicines, instruments, typewriters, printing machinery.’

‘Expensive?’ asked Holmes.

Bakdtadian’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Holmes, ‘Are you familiar with factory prices?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ answered Holmes.

‘How much of a discount on factory prices do you expect?’

‘Say, seventy per cent,’ said Holmes.

‘You’re out of your mind,’ exclaimed Bakhtadian.

‘No, I’m not,’ said Holmes coldly.

‘Don’t I have to make something?’

‘You do,’ Holmes agreed.

‘Then what’s in it for me?’

‘You’ll get something from me,’ said Holmes.

‘How much?’

‘Ten per cent,’ said Holmes.

Bakhtadian thought it over, ‘No, they won’t let it go so cheap,’ he said at last. ‘Pharmaceutical goods, marked underwear, boots, topographical and surgical instruments – you can have a discount of eighty per cent, but when it comes to the other stuff, up to forty per cent and with my ten per cent, that’ll make it fifty per cent.’

‘Blankets?’

‘As many as you want, but no more than fifty per cent discount. The Chinese are very eager to buy them.’

‘Well, all right … I’ll think about it. It’s all far too much,’ Holmes said lazily.

‘Enough of this haggling! What’s your price?’ Bakhtadian began to insist. ‘Now, then, what sort of a discount? Tell you what, with my cut, average forty-five per cent. How about it?’

‘No, no good,’ said Holmes. ‘The goods you said they’d let go cheap, seventy-five per cent and forty for the rest. For you, without exception, ten per cent from me. If not, there’s nothing more to be said.’

The haggling went on for an hour. But no matter how Bakhtadian argued, no matter how often he walked off for show, Holmes remained adamant. Not one single per cent more.

‘All right, have it your way,’ exclaimed Bakhtadian at last. ‘But, at least, give me a small advance so I can start.’

‘That’s all right,’ said Holmes coldly. ‘After all, if you can make off with a small advance, you’ll miss out on the greater amount. Here’s three hundred.’ He took three hundred out of his wallet and handed them over.

Bakhtadian cheered up. Evidently, there were prospects for money to be made in the deal. He called the shop assistant, gave him twenty-five roubles and told him to get three bottles of champagne. The drinking spree lasted well beyond midnight.

IX

The whole of the following day, Sherlock Holmes sent off telegrams in all directions. Evidently, these telegrams had the desired effect. A day later and the replies rained on us, but they were as long as letters. Reading them, Holmes smiled and kept on shaking his head.

‘What’s happening?’ I asked him once.

‘See for yourself,’ he answered and handed me a stack of telegrams.

I began to read them. They were fairly lengthy and came from major companies and certain hospitals, informing us of the loss of furs and other goods, descriptions, seals and stamps marking them, the packaging, numbering on invoices and other details.

Judging from these telegrams, there wasn’t a single major firm in Eastern Siberia that hadn’t been robbed. The total worth of the stolen goods exceeded three hundred thousand roubles.

Holmes selected the information he needed and meticulously wrote it down in his notebook.

‘Now, then, my dear Watson, half the task is done. All that’s left is to identify the sellers at source and find the warehouses where the stolen goods are kept. Watson, could you possibly follow Bakhtadian, who seems to have direct contact with the thieves.’

‘With pleasure,’ I agreed.

‘In that case, you’ll have to look like an ordinary workman and be ready for some tiring work. He’s coming to see me today, but by then you’ll have your make-up on. Just don’t go near him.’

Saying this, he put on his hat and promised to return in a few minutes, which he did.

‘There you are, I’ve got Bakhtadian’s address,’ he said cheerfully. ‘It appears he lives right here, at the edge of this little village, but he is seldom home. In the meantime, Watson, let’s have a bite and then we’ll get to work.’

We ate cold veal, roast beef and ham, drank them down with a decent amount of Lafitte, and then Holmes and I set about transforming my appearance. My new costume consisted of well-greased high boots, baggy striped old trousers, a canvas smock and a peaked cap. A few brush strokes on my face from Holmes’s skilled hand and I became completely unrecognizable. I completed the change of clothes, went into the shop and sat on a sack of salt in a dark corner.

At the same time, Holmes also changed into the same sort of clothes that I was wearing, but hid them under an eastern type robe called a khalat.

Bakhtadian soon arrived.

He paid no attention to me but addressed Holmes as soon as he came in. ‘Well, you should be getting about five chests today. The cargo will be fairly varied, because there’s been no time to sort out the stuff. They go for anything near at hand. When they bring them, we’ll see what’s inside.’

‘All right,’ said Holmes. ‘How late will they be delivered? After all, I have to prepare space for them.’

‘Not before three o’clock in the morning,’ said Bakhtadian. ‘I’ll be here myself by then.’

‘All right! All right!’ said Holmes.

‘And now, I’m busy!’

‘Off to where you have to go. I’m not detaining you,’ said Holmes, shrugging his shoulders.

Bakhtadian went off.

Darkness was falling and half a minute later his silhouette was already difficult to make out as he went in the direction of the station.

‘Quick! Go after him! Don’t let him out of your sight!’ Holmes shouted as he picked up his make-up box. I hurried out after Bakhtadian while Holmes, with the speed of lightning, was already working on his own face.

I followed Bakhtadian to the station. Without letting him out of my sight, I squatted down on the ground by the fence.

A lanky fellow came up. He looked as if a barber had upended a bowl on his head and cut his black hair from below it. His hands, face and clothes were so stained with coal you could hardly make out his short, black, bristly moustache. He squatted down beside me, ‘How long before the next train to Manchuria, man?’ he asked.

‘The devil alone knows,’ I answered.

‘So—’ he gave a melancholy drawl.

He sat beside me for a while, then turned towards me, and clapping me on the shoulder in a friendly way said, ‘Not too perceptive are you, my dear Watson!’

Now I recognized the familiar voice. I glanced at him, and his filthy appearance caused me to break out laughing.

‘Shhh,’ he whispered. ‘Don’t let’s bring attention to ourselves.’

At this time the depot manager went up to Bakhtadian, pacing up and down the platform, took him aside and very gravely and very carefully began to explain something to him. A third man, who looked like a foreman, joined them. While they spoke, a goods train came into the station.

The depot manager walked away slowly from them towards the stationmaster who came out of his office on the platform. The two of them together walked alongside the train, stopping at the fifth carriage from the rear. I saw the stationmaster give a nearly imperceptible nod at this carriage.

It was at this moment that Bakhtadian and his companion, both of whom had been watching the other two from a distance, jumped on the platform at the end of a carriage.

‘Let’s follow where they are going, Watson,’ said Holmes. ‘They are being very circumspect. I am sure it is the fifth carriage from the rear that the stationmaster indicated to Bakhtadian. We’ll have to make sure nobody sees us. First, the other side of the train and then let’s get on one of the empty platforms at the rear end of a carriage.’

We did so. We went around the train and, on the other side, began to walk beside it.

Now the third departure signal rang at last. The train began to get under way. We picked an empty platform at the end of a carriage and jumped on it as the train moved.

X

As soon as the train began to slow down before the next station, we jumped off and hid under the carriage of a train standing on the adjoining track. No sooner had we concealed ourselves when we saw the figure of Bakhtadian and his travelling companion. They marched quickly past us, stopped just before the fifth carriage from the back and, like us, hid on the track underneath the train. But the moment the third signal for departure sounded and the train began to move, both jumped on the platform of the fifth carriage. We, too, jumped up to take our former place on the platform. There were four carriages between us.

The train had moved little more than half a mile and the steep cliffs reappeared to our right, when the darkness descended, so that we couldn’t even see the telegraph poles along the route. We went through tunnel after tunnel. Going through them, the din was so deafening that we couldn’t hear anyone or anything no matter how we strained our ears.

But now the train began to climb uphill. The train slowed down and at the next tunnel was climbing at a crawl. But even here, despite the slow progress, the din was so great that it was impossible to hear any extraneous sounds.

As soon as we emerged from the tunnel, Holmes said to me, ‘Listen, my dear Watson, at the very first stop, get off and try to get home as soon as possible. You should be able to get back by three o’clock to accept the delivery. When Bakhtadian arrives with the goods, tell him that, because of a lucrative deal, I’m away for a day or two. Tell him you can’t unwrap and evaluate the goods and if he doesn’t trust you, he can take the chests away till I return.’

‘What about you, Holmes?’ I asked.

‘I’ll be back in approximately a day, perhaps even earlier or later, depending on the circumstances,’ he said. ‘In any case, watch carefully everything going on around you.’

He gave me certain instructions and, when the train entered the station, he got off. I got off, too, but did not see him. I was lucky! The return train was standing at the station. Since it was night, nobody intercepted me and I was able to find myself a platform on a freight train. At a quarter past two I was already home.

XI

At about half past three there was a knock on the door. It was Bakhtadian with two others, bringing four chests of goods. He expressed great surprise that Holmes, whom he knew as Vedrin, wasn’t home. Obviously, he wanted to get rid of the goods as soon as possible, collect his money and then he could consider himself on the sidelines. But there was nothing to be done. He didn’t feel like taking the goods back, so he said that he’d be back in two days.

I spent all the next day alone, selling one or two trifles to an occasional customer. Holmes appeared at about nine o’clock in the evening. He threw off his working-man’s clothes, washed the make-up off his face and threw himself hungrily at food. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t take a few sandwiches along with me. I had to work on an empty stomach all day,’ he complained.

The fixed, preoccupied stare probably meant the day’s trek had not been in vain. He cast a passing glance at the newly delivered chests saying, ‘Bakhtadian was here! He came at about half-past three in the night accompanied by two labourers. There was a white stain on his right shoulder.’

I remembered that Bakhtadian did, in fact, have such a stain and it was, indeed, on his right shoulder. ‘You saw him?’ I asked.

‘Yes, but much earlier.’

‘And most likely you have found out something of great importance,’ I prompted.

‘Yes, I can certainly boast of that,’ Holmes said cheerfully. He lit a cigar, stretched out his legs and began to speak, ‘Of course, Watson, you remember the moment when we parted. As soon as the train stopped, I ran to the fifth carriage from the rear, but neither Bakhtadian nor his companion was there. I looked everywhere, inside every nook and cranny, but it was a waste of time. There was no doubt in my mind they’d jumped off while the train was in motion. But when? It had to be when the train slowed down and that could only be when it was going uphill. There was only one steep climb before that station when the train really slowed down.’

‘That was just before we got to the long tunnel,’ I interrupted. ‘I think the whole tunnel was on a steep incline.’

‘Quite right, my dear Watson. You are to be commended for your powers of observation,’ said Holmes. ‘And so I had to assume that they’d both jumped off either before we got to the tunnel or inside it. If so, the question arises, why? And then another question, why did they move from the first carriage to the platform of the fifth, the very one on which the stationmaster and depot manager focused their attention. My first instinct was to throw myself headlong into the tunnel but, instead, I rode as far as the next railway shunting. To examine the carriage while the train was standing at the station was both inconvenient and dangerous. As soon as the train moved, I jumped on the platform which Bakhtadian and his companion had occupied. The train moved out of the station and, as soon as we were beyond the last station semaphore, I began to examine the sides of the carriage with the aid of a pocket torch. The first thing I noticed was that there were chinks in the panelling and these chinks were not filled with paint. It was as if the panelling wasn’t painted after it had been installed, but boards had first been painted and then used for panelling. In one of those panels I found a little hollow. It was as if someone had hammered in a thick nail but, before hammering it all the way through, it had been pulled out.

‘I took out a steel pin I carried with me, inserted it in the hollow and jiggled it from side to side. Nothing happened. But when I jiggled it up and down, it slid deeper in without resistance. Now it became possible to remove the entire panelling and then four more, creating a wide gap.’

‘This is most intriguing,’ I exclaimed.

‘Yes.’ Holmes nodded. ‘When I went into the carriage, it was half empty. There were only a few chests left, which the thieves hadn’t the time to throw out before the train reached the top of the incline. I replaced the panelling carefully and, as we were going up another incline, I jumped off the train. All the way back I ran at full speed. At last I got back to the station and walked beyond. I had marked the tunnel, which was a good eight miles from the station. There were two more tunnels along the way and I walked through them without hindrance, although I came across watchmen at their entrances. But no sooner did I come to the tunnel I was aiming for than I was intercepted by a watchman, “Where d’you think you’re going!” he yelled. “Don’t you know tunnels are out of bounds!” I argued and swore, but to no avail. He wouldn’t let me through. I had to resort to cunning. I pretended to go round and hid behind a bush on a high rock. From here I had a clear view of the watchman. As soon as I saw him go inside his booth, I threw myself down and darted into the tunnel. It was a long tunnel, I thought, a good half mile and longer.’

Sherlock Holmes paused, drank a little red wine and went on, ‘I moved forward carefully, listening for the slightest sound, shining my torch on the walls and examining the sides of the tunnel carefully. Some three hundred yards into the tunnel, I came across a wagon that had been emptied and leaned up against the wall inside an archway. I scrutinized every stone of the tunnel at this point. And then I saw that four stones were not at one with the rest of the wall. They were cemented together. Moreover, they were not rock, but slabs cemented together. The four together were seven feet square. Undoubtedly, an artificial entrance way but, try as I might, I couldn’t find how to get it to open. Today, my dear Watson, we’ll summon Bakhtadian, settle up with him for the delivery, and go there together.’

‘Do you suspect that’s the hiding place for stolen goods?’

‘Yes, at least for this route. Every railroad route has its own storage facilities,’ answered Holmes.

We agreed on when we’d be going and lay down to sleep. Holmes slept for a couple of hours and then, having dressed in his ordinary clothes, vanished. He was back half an hour later with Bakhtadian in tow.

The three of us set to sorting out the goods Bakhtadian had delivered. The chests contained boots marked army quartermaster issue and underwear for junior ranks. Holmes assigned everything the exact factory prices and this, and the agreed percentage, was paid to Bakhtadian.

Bakhtadian promised to deliver another lot the same night, but not before four o’clock, and left. We changed swiftly into our previous workmen’s clothes and sped to the station.

XII

We carried dark cloaks with us. The station was empty. The next train was due to leave in two hours and a quarter. We decided not to waste that much time, so we returned.

First we went to where Bakhtadian lived. But it was dark there, too, so we walked up and down the streets of the little village. It was in total darkness. The little village slept the sleep of the dead. At its edge we were near the Red Cross storehouse and were about to turn back, when we suddenly heard voices.

‘It’s Bakhtadian,’ Holmes whispered. ‘For heaven’s sake, take care. Follow me!’

He bent low and crept to the pile of goods belonging to the Red Cross, covered with tarpaulin. Soon enough, we saw the silhouettes of three men, amongst whom I recognized that of Bakhtadian. We crept nearer, ducked under the tarpaulin and began to listen. ‘You don’t have much to sell, have you?’ Bakhtadian was asking quietly.

‘As far as we are concerned, we have army quartermasters as part of us, which means we can let you have quite a lot,’ said another voice. ‘Everything you take, we can show as having been forwarded but destroyed during the retreat. We’ve come to an agreement over this with most army quartermasters. But you have to take the stuff as soon as possible, before the commission checking on remainder quantities gets to work.’

‘So where do we get the stuff from?’

‘Partly here, partly in Harbin.’

‘What have you got?’

‘Mainly tinned goods, canvas, leather of all sorts, ready-made boots, oats, barley, flour—’

‘And where do we discuss prices?’

‘See me. I arrived today and I’m staying with the quartermaster.’

‘Very well, but how do you aim to bring the cargo from Harbin?’

‘Oh, don’t worry about that. We live in harmony with the railways and share everything.’

‘Very well, I’ll see you tomorrow morning,’ said Bakhtadian.

And evidently now turning to the third man, he said, ‘And how about you?’

‘The same as with them,’ the third voice answered. ‘There’s a lot you can buy from us in the Red Cross, sugar, underwear, wine, cloth, tobacco, tinned goods—’

‘Where can they be picked up?’

‘Also here, then in Goon Ju Lin, Harbin.’

‘No fear of discovery?’

‘No fear. We’re dealing with people who won’t talk.’ He proceeded to name names, which Holmes quickly wrote down under the light of a concealed torch.

‘So how did you find me?’

‘Ivan Nikolayevitch recommended you to me.’

‘Yes, I was the one who told Trudin,’ a third voice confirmed.

‘Hmmm,’ lowed Bakhtadian. ‘Come to Ivan Nikolayevitch tomorrow morning, agree on a price and then start moving the stuff.’

‘Done!’

We heard all three depart while continuing their conversation. We left our hiding place and began to return, but Holmes didn’t go to the station. ‘I have to ascertain one or two things,’ he said, ‘so, tonight, you’re on your own.’ We shook hands and he vanished.

XIII

The following day at about noon Holmes came home excited and happy.

He said not a word, but seized a sheet of paper, dashed off a telegram and rushed off to the telegraph office.

‘Well, my dear Watson,’ he said, when he returned half an hour later, ‘now I’ve got them all firmly in my hands. In three days time, all the stolen goods will be freighted from everywhere.’

‘You’ve seen something?’ I asked.

‘More than necessary,’ said Holmes cheerfully. ‘When we parted, I went to the home of the quartermaster. His orderly was outside and we fell into conversation. He told me that there was a guest, an official of the Harbin quartermaster. This official’s name is Ivan Nikolayevitch Bravoff, who has been assigned a corner room with windows leading into the garden. When the orderly went to bed, I climbed up to the roof without any problem and slipped into the attic through the dormer window. I found the area above Bravoff’s room and drilled a hole in the ceiling. I sat there quietly without moving all night. At about eight, peeking through the hole, I saw Bakhtadian appear, then Trudin and, finally, a fellow called Verkhoveroff, an assistant stationmaster. They all began to haggle without any constraint, naming many names participating in the business, all of which I was able to write down. Amongst them were generals, and engineers, and agents empowered to act on behalf of the Red Cross. The discussion was so frank and open, I was really convinced that without the indirect help of such people, neither Bakhtadian, nor Trudin, nor Bravoff was in a position to do anything or would have to limit themselves to trifles. Some of those named were in such high positions, they themselves had such powerful patronage (protexia, as they call it hereabouts), that they could have any investigation or prosecution against themselves suppressed. But that, Watson, is none of our business. In three days time, the delivery to the secret depot from their nearest points begins. Then, from the furthest to the nearest, which will now serve as intermediate points. It looks as if this gang is so sure of the power of the people at the top that the members operate openly. Well, we’ll see. The day after tomorrow sees the arrival of Zviagin with gendarmes in disguise.’

XIV

For two days we quietly held ourselves ready, continuing to watch Bakhtadian. At the end of the second day Zviagin arrived with eight disguised gendarmes. Like them, he, too, was in civvies. They went by train to the nearest station and walked from there. They arrived late at night and, so as not to attract suspicion, settled themselves in a shed in our yard.

Holmes told them in minute detail everything that had happened in the meantime. They made notes all night, but I noticed both fear and indecisiveness reflected on Zviagin’s face.

We were all up early. Bakhtadian arrived at about nine. He told us that, in a day or two, he’d be delivering a vast amount of goods to us and, asking us to prepare space and money, he left.

The rest of the day I spent with Holmes at the station. Dressed as labourers, we attracted no attention and were easily able to watch four freight cars standing on the outward route being loaded in preparation for departure, while Bakhtadian and the depot manager looked on from a distance. The cargo for these freight cars was brought on Chinese carts from a small village.

At the same time, a freight train arrived from the east. The chief conductor came up to Bakhtadian and, having said something to him, poked a finger at three successive carriages at the rear of the train.

Holmes looked at them and smirked, ‘They’re not sealed, but are bound to have goods inside.’ And as if to confirm his observation, the door of one opened and out jumped Bravoff and Trudin.

With the help of the Chinese, they began to unload the three freight cars and transfer the chests to the still-empty freight cars on the outward route which had been loaded up by Bakhtadian. There was now one long line of rolling stock.

‘Let’s go home,’ Holmes whispered to me.

Zviagin was already waiting. He was gloomy and deep in thought.

‘Captain, three gendarmes by cart to the tunnel I told you about,’ said Holmes hurriedly. ‘They are to take their positions at the eastern exit and, when the alarm is raised, detain everyone.’

Zviagin issued the necessary orders.

‘Now, sir,’ continued Holmes, ‘the other gendarmes are to hurry on their carts and make haste to the tunnel. But they have to conceal themselves not far from the western entrance, so that they can see the trains. As soon as they see three flashes from a torch coming from one of the trains, they must hurry, but very carefully, into the tunnel. As for us, we have to hurry to the station.’

We checked our revolvers and new torches and set off for the station. The train, now fully loaded, stood on the outward route. The three of us hurried towards it.

Holmes left us for a few minutes and when he came back, whispered, ‘There are eight of them. Four are on the platform in the rear of the first carriage and four on the fourth. There’s nobody on any of the other platforms.’

The locomotive was now attached to the train and the full complement moved slowly forward. The three of us jumped on one of the end carriages and we were off. We passed a station and Holmes observed that the stationmaster let it through although it wasn’t travelling by any timetable. The train wasn’t even examined and simply moved on. All this was done openly.

The train went through several tunnels and then began to go uphill. Before we got to the tunnel we wanted, Holmes flashed his torch thrice.

Approaching the tunnel, the train slowed down to such an extent that it would have been possible to keep up with it at a walking pace. Then, when the last carriage had entered the tunnel, the train ground to a complete halt. We threw on our dark cloaks and, at a signal from Holmes, jumped off our platform and cautiously moved along the tunnel.

Light appeared on the other side of the freight car and voices could be heard. The carriage doors began to open. Someone was issuing orders and, one after another, chests tumbled off the trains and thudded on the ground, where they were picked up.

We crept into one of the niches and, squatting on our heels, we watched how the work proceeded on the other side of the wheels.

Half an hour passed. Suddenly there was a rustle from the western side. Holmes took out his revolver, rushed off in that direction and vanished in the dark.

Our nerves tense, we awaited the appearance of the unknown people from the west. And then, suddenly before us, as if he had sprung from the ground, Holmes appeared with a bunch of people in tow. These were the gendarmes who had responded to the agreed signal. At a signal from Holmes, they, too, hid with us in the niche and we waited.

All of a sudden a clear voice broke the silence, ‘Take the train back. Everything’s been unloaded. Too crammed to work here.’ The wheels clattered and the train began to crawl back.

We pressed ourselves to the wall, our cloaks held together to ensure we weren’t seen from the locomotive. But the driver must have been looking the other way and never even noticed us when the sparks from the train and its lamps lit us up. Another minute and the train was gone. We threw off our cloaks.

It was an unusual scene that we saw! Eight people, looking like underground spirits, were working in a darkness lit up by crimson and purple flares. We saw how Bakhtadian moved towards the side of the tunnel, inserted a small rod into it and part of the wall fell back, leaving what appeared to be an entrance. A bright light came through it and lit up the tunnel. All eight energetically fell to shifting the chests towards it.

‘Forward!’ ordered Holmes.

Revolvers at the ready, we threw ourselves towards the opening. The sound of our footsteps alerted the robbers. Bakhtadian tried to make a run for the entrance that had just yawned open, but Holmes’s revolver rang out and he fell prostrate to the ground.

‘Don’t move, if your life is dear to you,’ barked Holmes loudly.

But the robbers only fired back. They had recovered, moved together and were firing as they retreated towards the east.

There came a fierce exchange of fire in this underworld domain and in the near-absolute darkness, someone must have been wounded. We heard him moan in pain. Cries intermingled with curses and gunshots.

‘Gendarmes Petroff and Sidorchuk, action,’ barked Zviagin.

Two shots echoed from behind the robbers.

‘Don’t shoot!’ Zviagin shouted. The gunfire from behind them panicked the robbers. Cries for mercy came from among them. One after another, they threw down their arms and begged for mercy. With our torches on, we approached them slowly, our revolvers at the ready.

‘Two gendarmes on the train and stop it leaving. One stand guard by the cargo!’ Sherlock Holmes gave the order.

And turning to the robbers, he said coldly, ‘And as for you, the wisest course is to let yourselves be tied up. There’s more of us than you think and the eastern exit is guarded. Hurry up, Mr Bravoff, and you, Mr Trudin.’

The men from the Red Cross and the quartermaster stood silently, their heads lowered.

‘Gendarmes, take them!’ ordered Zviagin.

At the word ‘gendarmes’, a shudder went through the robber band. Up until now they must have thought they were dealing with another robber gang. But as soon as the word ‘gendarmes’ sounded and the disguised men moved forward, several members of the robber band raised their revolvers in a desperate resolve.

‘Aha! So that’s how it is!’ shouted Holmes, raising his revolver.

In the same moment, seven gendarmes fired in coordination and four ruffians fell to the ground covered in blood and filling the tunnel with their cries. Bravoff fell with them. That was their last attempt to defend themselves. Their numbers down, their morale gone, the remaining robbers stood there shaking in fear.

XV

‘Take ’em!’ shouted Zviagin and rushed forward. The robbers were tied up in no time.

‘God help us!’ suddenly a desperate cry burst from Holmes. We turned to look at him. He was moving like lightning towards the entrance to the underground warehouse. He got as far as some object lying on the ground when there was the sound of a blow and we saw Holmes, his face distorted, dragging an unconscious Bakhtadian away.

‘What’s happened?’ I asked in alarm.

‘A few more seconds and this villain would have blown himself up and us with him,’ answered Holmes. ‘We paid no attention to him because he was wounded. He realized there was no escape, so he gathered up all his strength, dragged himself to the spot where there is a fuse coming from a mine inside the wall. I seized him just as he lit the match to light the Bickford cord. Just as well I got to him in time to prevent him blowing us all to kingdom come!’

The wounded groaned in pain.

Out of my pocket I took bandages and my campaign first aid kit with all the items needed for caring for the wounded and began to tend to them.

We left men to guard the gang and the three of us, with two gendarmes, went to examine the underground storage chamber. The entrance was a first-class piece of workmanship. It was made up of four large stone slabs. They were fixed into a thick iron frame so skilfully that the closest scrutiny couldn’t distinguish them from the tunnel walls. Once through them, we were in a vast underground grotto carved out of the rock.

The grotto was lit up by ten bright lamps, whose light fell on mountains of chests filled with the most varied goods. In one corner there was a small office desk with a thick notebook on it. Entered up in it with absolute precision were the supply and delivery of goods, with notes indicating from whom delivered and to whom sold.

‘This is all we need,’ said Holmes, taking the book. He turned to Zviagin, ‘I’ve done my job. Here is a list of all those mixed up in this business. One hundred and ninety-two major figures and, as for small fry, probably ten times more.’

Zviagin took the list and with a frown began to scan it, ‘These are VIPs,’ he said, looking troubled and confused. ‘How does one get to them?’ He fell silent.

Holmes looked at him ironically. ‘The root of the evil must be sought at the top of a rotten bureaucracy for which some little man is usually made to carry the blame. If in all seriousness you wish to get rid of this evil, you will only be saved by a just and correct Parliamentary system.’

‘And that’s already not up to me,’ said Zviagin coldly.

‘But, surely, the fact that such people participate in such matters proves the necessity for public control by the people and not bureaucratic control out of which these people emerged,’ Holmes persisted.

‘I would ask you not to say such things in the presence of lower ranks,’ Zviagin interrupted him curtly and added, ‘Our job is done. The sentries are in place. We can go.’

We came out, got aboard the train waiting near the tunnel and ordered ourselves to be taken back.

XVI

Several years have passed since then. We read the accounts of trials. We knew that the case brought to trial was subject to considerable alteration. Many, many were brought to book, but it was the small fry who paid the price, plus a few secondary officials in various departments.

The First and the Second Governmental Dumas, the Russian attempt at a Parliament, were dissolved before either could get to the happenings in Siberia and Manchuria. The Third Governmental Duma was so overwhelmed with legislation and so occupied with good intentions, that it had absolutely no time for Siberia.